C:\Users\John\Downloads\R\Robert Silverberg - Amanda and the Alien.pdb

PDB Name:

Robert Silverberg - Amanda and

Creator ID:

REAd

PDB Type:

TEXt

Version:

0

Unique ID Seed:

0

Creation Date:

02/01/2008

Modification Date:

02/01/2008

Last Backup Date:

01/01/1970

Modification Number:

0

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Robert%20Silverberg%20-%20Amanda%20a
nd%20the%20Alien.txt
Version 1.0 dtd 040700
AMANDA AND THE ALIEN
By Robert Silverberg
Amanda spotted the alien late Friday afternoon outside the Video Center, on
South Main. It was trying to look cool and laid-back, but it simply came
across as bewildered and uneasy. The alien was disguised as a seventeen
year-old girl, maybe a Chicana, with olive-toned skin and hair so black it
seemed almost blue, but Amanda, who was seventeen herself, knew a phony when
she saw one.
She studied the alien for some moments from the other side of the street to
make absolutely certain. Then she walked over.
"You're doing it wrong," Amanda said. "Anybody with half a brain could tell
what you really are."
"Bug off," the alien said.
"No. Listen to me. You want to stay out of the detention center, or don't
you?"
The alien stared coldly at Amanda and said, "I don't know what the crap you're
talking about."
"Sure you do. No sense trying to bluff me. Look, I want to help you," Amanda
said. "I think you're getting a raw deal. You know what that means, a raw
deal? Hey, look, come home with me, and I'll teach you a few things about
passing for human. I've got the whole friggin' weekend now with nothing else
to do anyway"
A flicker of interest came into the other girl's dark, chilly eyes. But it
died quickly, and she said, "You some kind of lunatic?"
"Suit yourself, O thing from beyond the stars. Let them lock you up again. Let
them stick electrodes up your ass. I tried to help. That's all I can do, is
try," Amanda said, shrugging. She began to saunter away. She didn't look back.
Three steps, four, five, hands in pockets, slowly heading for her car. Had she
been wrong, she wondered? No. No. She could be wrong about some things, like
Charley Taylor's interest in spending the weekend with her, maybe. But not
this. That crinkly-haired chick was the missing alien for sure.
The whole county was buzzing about it: Deadly nonhuman life form has escaped
from the detention center out by Tracy, might be anywhere, Walnut Creek,
Livermore, even San Francisco, dangerous monster, capable of mimicking human
forms, will engulf and digest you and disguise itself in your shape. And there
it was, Amanda knew, standing outside the Video Center. Amanda kept walking.
"Wait," the alien said finally.
Amanda took another easy step or two. Then she looked back over her shoulder.
"Yeah?"
"How can you tell?"
Amanda grinned. "Easy. You've got a rain slicker on, and it's only September.
Rainy season doesn't start around here for another month or two. Your pants
are the old

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Spandex kind. People like you don't wear that stuff anymore. Your face paint
is San Jose colors, but you've got the cheek chevrons put on in the Berkeley
pattern. That's just the first three things I noticed. I could find plenty
more. Nothing about you fits together with anything else.
It's like you did a survey to see how you ought to appear and then tried a
little of everything.
The closer I study you, the more I see. Look, you're wearing your headphones,
and the battery light is on, but there's no cassette in the slot. What are you
listening to, the music of the spheres? That model doesn't have any FM tuner,
you know.
"You see? You may think that you're perfectly camouflaged, but you aren't."
"I could destroy you," the alien said.
"What? Oh, sure. Sure you could. Engulf me right here on the street, all over
in thirty seconds, little trail of slime by the door, and a new Amanda walks
away. But what then? What good's that going to do you? You still won't know
which end is up. So there's no logic in destroying me, unless you're a total
dummy. I'm on your side. I'm not going to turn you in."
"Why should I trust you?"
"Because I've been talking to you for five minutes and I haven't yelled for
the cops yet. Don't you know that half of California is out searching for you?
Hey, can you read? Come over here a minute. Here." Amanda tugged the alien
toward the newspaper vending box at the curb. The headline on the afternoon
Examiner was
BAY AREA ALIEN TERROR MARINES TO JOIN NINE-COUNTY HUNT
MAYOR, GOVERNOR CAUTION AGAINST PANIC
"You understand that?" Amanda asked. "That's you they're talking about.
They're out there with flame guns, tranquilizer darts, web snares, and God
knows what else. There's been real hysteria for a day and
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file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Robert%20Silverberg%20-%20Amanda%20a
nd%20the%20Alien.txt a half. And you standing around here with the wrong
chevrons on! Christ. Christ! What's your plan, anyway? Where are you trying to
go?"
"Home," the alien said. "But first I have to rendezvous at the pickup point."
"Where's that?"
"You think I'm stupid?"
"Shit," Amanda said. "If I meant to turn you in, I'd have done it five minutes
ago. But, okay, I
don't give a damn where your rendezvous point is. I tell you, though, you
wouldn't make it as far as San Francisco rigged up the way you are. It's a
miracle you've avoided getting caught until now."
"And you'll help me?"
"I've been trying to. Come on. Let's get the hell out of here. I'll take you
home and fix you up a little. My car's in the lot down on the next corner."
"Okay."
"Whew!" Amanda shook her head slowly. "Christ, some people sure can't take
help when you try to offer it."
As she drove out of the center of town, Amanda glanced occasionally at the
alien sitting tensely to her right. Basically the disguise was very
convincing, Amanda thought. Maybe all the small details were wrong, the outer
stuff, the anthropological stuff, but the alien looked human, it sounded
human, it even smelled human. Possibly it could fool ninety-nine people out of
a hundred, or maybe more than that. But Amanda had always had a good eye for
detail. And at the particular moment she had spotted the alien on South Main
she had been unusually alert, sensitive, all raw nerves, every antenna up.
Of course it wasn't aliens she was hunting for, but just a diversion, a little
excitement, something to fill the great gaping emptiness that Charley Taylor

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had left in her weekend.
Amanda had been planning the weekend with Charley all month. Her parents were
going to go off to
Lake Tahoe for three days, her kid sister had wangled permission to accompany
them, and Amanda was going to have the house to herself, just her and Macavity
the cat. And Charley. He was going to move in on Friday afternoon, and they'd
cook dinner together and get blasted on her stash of choice powder and watch
five or six of her parents' X cassettes, and Saturday they'd drive over to the
city and cruise some of the kinky districts and go to that bathhouse on Folsom
where everybody got naked and climbed into the giant Jacuzzi, and then on
Sunday-Well, none of that was going to happen. Charley had called on Thursday
to cancel. "Something big came up," he said, and Amanda had a pretty good idea
what that was, his hot little cousin from New Orleans, who sometimes came
flying out here on no notice at all, but the inconsiderate bastard seemed to
be entirely unaware of how much Amanda had been looking forward to this
weekend, how much it meant to her, how painful it was to be dumped like this.
She had run through the planned events of the weekend in her mind so many
times that she almost felt as if she had experienced them. It was that real to
her. But overnight it had become unreal.
Three whole days on her own, the house to herself, and so early in the
semester that there was no homework to think about, and Charley had stood her
up! What was she supposed to do now, call desperately around town to scrounge
up some old lover as a playmate? Or pick up some stranger downtown? Amanda
hated to fool around with strangers. She was half-tempted to go over to the
city and just let things happen, but they were all weirdoes and creeps over
there, anyway, and she knew what she could expect from them. What a waste, not
having Charley! She could kill him for robbing her of the weekend.
Now there was the alien, though. A dozen of these star people had come to
Earth last year, not in a flying saucer as everybody had expected, but in
little capsules that floated like milkweed seeds, and they had landed in a
wide arc between San Diego and Salt Lake City.
Their natural form, so far as anyone could tell, was something like a huge
jellyfish with a row of staring purple eyes down one wavy margin, but their
usual tactic was to borrow any local body they found, digest it, and turn
themselves into an accurate imitation of it. One of them had made the mistake
of turning itself into a brown mountain bear and another into a bobcat-maybe
they thought that those were the dominant life forms on Earth-but the others
had taken on human bodies, at the cost of at least ten lives.
Then they went looking to make contact with government leaders, and naturally
they were rounded up very swiftly and interned, some in mental hospitals and
some in county jails, but eventually-as soon as the truth of what they really
were sank in-they were all put in a special detention camp in northern
California.
Of course a tremendous fuss was made over them, endless stuff in the papers
and on the tube, speculation by this heavy thinker and that about the
significance of their mission, the nature of
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file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Robert%20Silverberg%20-%20Amanda%20a
nd%20the%20Alien.txt their biochemistry, a little wild talk about the
possibility that more of their kind might be waiting undetected out there and
plotting to do God knows what, and all sorts of that stuff. Then came a
government clamp on the entire subject, no official announcements except that
"discussions"
with the visitors were continuing, and after a while the whole thing
degenerated into dumb alien jokes ("Why did the alien cross the road?") and
Halloween invader masks. Then it moved into the background of everyone's
attention and was forgotten.

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And remained forgotten until the announcement that one of the creatures had
slipped out of the camp somehow and was loose within a hundred-mile zone
around San Francisco. Preoccupied as she was with her anguish over Charley's
heartlessness, even Amanda had managed to pick up that news item.
And now the alien was in her very car. So there'd be some weekend amusement
for her after all.
Amanda was entirely unafraid of the alleged deadliness of the star being:
Whatever else the alien might be, it was surely no dope, not if it had been
picked to come halfway across the galaxy on a mission like this, and Amanda
knew that the alien could see that harming her was not going to be in its own
best interests. The alien had need of her, and the alien realized that. And
Amanda, in some way that she was only just beginning to work out, had need of
the alien.
She pulled up outside her house, a compact split-level at the western end of
town. "This is the place," she said.
Heat shimmers danced in the air, and the hills back of the house, parched in
the long dry summer, were the color of lions.
Macavity, Amanda's old tabby, sprawled in the shade of the bottlebrush tree on
the ragged front lawn. As Amanda and the alien approached, the cat sat up
warily, flattened his ears, and hissed.
The alien immediately moved into a defensive posture, sniffing the air.
"Just a household pet," Amanda said. "You know what that is? He isn't
dangerous. He's always a little suspicious of strangers."
Which was untrue. An earthquake couldn't have brought Macavity out of his nap,
and a cotillion of mice dancing minuets on his tail wouldn't have drawn a
reaction from him. Amanda calmed him with some fur ruffling, but he wanted
nothing to do with the alien and went slinking sullenly into the underbrush.
The alien watched him with care until he was out of sight.
"Do you have anything like cats back on your planet?" Amanda asked as they
went inside.
"We had small wild animals once. They were unnecessary."
"Oh," Amanda said, losing interest. The house had a stuffy, stagnant air. She
switched on the air conditioning. "Where is your planet, anyway?"
The alien pointedly ignored the question. It padded around the living room,
very much like a prowling cat itself, studying the stereo, the television, the
couches, the coffee table, and the vase of dried flowers.
"Is this a typical Earthian home?"
"More or less," said Amanda. "Typical for around here, at least. This is what
we call a suburb.
It's half an hour by freeway from here to San Francisco. That's a city. I'll
take you over there tonight or tomorrow for a look, if you're interested." She
got some music going, high volume. The alien didn't seem to mind; so she
notched the volume up even more. "I'm going to take a shower.
You could use one, too, actually."
"Shower? You mean rain?"
"I mean body-cleaning activities. We Earthlings like to wash a lot, to get rid
of sweat and dirt and stuff. It's considered bad form to stink. Come on, I'll
show you how to do it. You've got to do what I do if you want to keep from
getting caught, you know." She led the alien to the bathroom. "Take your
clothes off first."
The alien stripped. Underneath its rain slicker it wore a stained T-shirt that
said FISHERMAN'S
WHARF, with a picture of the San Francisco skyline, and a pair of unzipped
jeans. Under that it was wearing a black brassiere, unfastened and with the
cups over its shoulder blades, and a pair of black shiny panty-briefs with a
red heart on the left buttock. The alien's body was that of a lean,
tough-looking girl with a scar running down the inside of one arm.
"By the way, whose body is that?" Amanda asked. "Do you know?"
"She worked at the detention center. In the kitchen."
"You know her name?"

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"Flores Concepcibn."
"The other way around, probably. Concepcibn Flores. I'll call you Connie,
unless you want to give me your real name." .
"Connie will do."
"All right, Connie. Pay attention. You turn the water on here, and you adjust
the mix of hot and
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file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Robert%20Silverberg%20-%20Amanda%20a
nd%20the%20Alien.txt cold until you like it. Then you pull this knob and get
underneath the spout here and wet your body and rub soap over it and wash the
soap off. Afterward you dry yourself and put fresh clothes on. You have to
clean your clothes from time to time, too, because otherwise they start to
smell, and it upsets people. Watch me shower, and then you do it."
Amanda washed quickly, while plans hummed in her head. The alien wasn't going
to last long wearing the body of Concepcion Flores. Sooner or later someone
was going to notice that one of the kitchen girls was missing, and they'd get
an all-points alarm out for her. Amanda wondered whether the alien had figured
that out yet. The alien, Amanda thought, needs a different body in a hurry.
But not mine, she told herself. For sure, not mine.
"Your turn," she said casually, shutting the water off.
The alien, fumbling a little, turned the water back on and got under the
spray. Clouds of steam rose, and its skin began to look boiled, but it didn't
appear troubled. No sense of pain? "Hold it," Amanda said. "Step back." She
adjusted the water. "You've got it too hot. You'll damage that body that way.
Look, if you can't tell the difference between hot and cold, just take cold
showers, okay? It's less dangerous. This is cold, on this side."
She left the alien under the shower and went to find some clean clothes. When
she came back, the alien was still showering, under icy water. "Enough,"
Amanda said. "Here. Put these clothes on."
"I had more clothes than this before."
"A T-shirt and jeans are all you need in hot weather like this. With your kind
of build you can skip the bra, and anyway I don't think you'll be able to
fasten it the right way."
"Do we put the face paint on now?"
"We can skip it while we're home. It's just stupid kid stuff anyway, all that
tribal crap. If we go out we'll do it, and we'll give you Walnut Creek colors,
I think. Concepcibn wore San Jose, but we want to throw people off the track.
How about some dope?"
"What?"
"Grass. Marijuana. A drug widely used by local Earthians of our age."
"I don't need no drug."
"I don't, either. But I'd like some. You ought to learn how, just in case you
find yourself in a social situation." Amanda reached for her pack of Filter
Golds and pulled out a joint. Expertly she tweaked its lighter tip and took a
deep hit. "Here," she said, passing it. "Hold it like I
did.
Put it to your mouth, breathe in, suck the smoke deep." The alien dragged the
joint and began to cough. "Not so deep, maybe," Amanda said. "Take just a
little. Hold it. Let it out. There, much better. Now give me back the joint.
You've got to keep passing it back and forth. That part's important. You feel
anything from it?"
"No."
"It can be subtle. Don't worry about it. Are you hungry? "
"Not yet," the alien said.
"I am. Come into the kitchen." As she assembled a sandwich-peanut butter and
avocado on whole wheat, with tomato and onion-she asked, "What sort of things
do you guys eat?"

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"Life."
"Life?"
"We never eat dead things. Only things with life."
Amanda fought back a shudder. "I see. Anything with life?"
"We prefer animal life. We can absorb plants if necessary."
"Ah. Yes. And when are you going to be hungry again?"
"Maybe tonight," the alien said. ."Or tomorrow. The hunger comes very
suddenly, when it comes."
"There's not much around here that you could eat live. But I'll work on it."
"The small furry animal?"
"No. My cat is not available for dinner. Get that idea right out of your head.
Likewise me. I'm your protector and guide. It wouldn't be sensible to eat me.
You follow what I'm trying to tell you?"
"I said that I'm not hungry yet."
"Well, you let me know when you start feeling the pangs. I'll find you a
meal." Amanda began to construct a second sandwich. The alien prowled the
kitchen, examining the appliances. Perhaps making mental records, Amanda
thought, of sink and oven design, to copy on its home world. Amanda said. "Why
did you people come here in the first place?"
"It was our mission."
"Yes. Sure. But for what purpose? What are you after? You want to take over
the world? You want to steal our scientific secrets?" The alien, making no
reply, began taking spices out of the spice
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file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Robert%20Silverberg%20-%20Amanda%20a
nd%20the%20Alien.txt rack. Delicately it licked its finger, touched it to the
oregano, tasted it, tried the cumin.
Amanda said, "Or is it that you want to keep us from going into space? You
think we're a dangerous species, and so you're going to quarantine us on our
own planet? Come on, you can tell me. I'm not a government spy." The alien
sampled the tarragon, the basil, the sage. When it reached for the curry
powder, its hand suddenly shook so violently that it knocked the open jars of
oregano and tarragon over, making a mess. "Hey, are you all right?" Amanda
asked.
The alien said, "I think I'm getting hungry. Are these things drugs, too?"
"Spices," Amanda said. "We put them in our foods to make them taste better."
The alien was looking very strange, glassy-eyed, flushed, sweaty. "Are you
feeling sick or something?"
"I feel excited. These powders-"
"They're turning you on? Which one?"
"This, I think." It pointed to the oregano. "It was either the first one or
the second."
"Yeah." Amanda said. "Oregano. It can really make you fly." She wondered
whether the alien would get violent when zonked. Or whether the oregano would
stimulate its appetite. She had to watch out for its appetite. There are
certain risks, Amanda reflected, in doing what I'm doing. Deftly she cleaned
up the spilled oregano and tarragon and put the caps on the spice jars. "You
ought to be careful," she said.
"Your metabolism isn't used to this stuff. A little can go a long way."
"Give me some more."
"Later," Amanda said. "You don't want to overdo it too early in the day."
"More!"
"Calm down. I know this planet better than you, and I don't want to see you
get in trouble. Trust me. I'll let you have more oregano when it's the right
time. Look at the way you're shaking. And you're sweating like crazy."
Pocketing the oregano jar, she led the alien back into the living room. "Sit
down. Relax."

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"More? Please?"
"I appreciate your politeness. But we have important things to talk about, and
then I'll give you some. Okay?" Amanda opaque the window, through which the
hot late-afternoon sun was coming. Six o'clock on Friday, and if everything
had gone the right way Charley would have been showing up just about now.
Well, she'd found a different diversion. The weekend stretched before her like
an open road leading to Mystery land. The alien offered all sorts of
possibilities, and she might yet have some fun over the next few days, if she
used her head. Amanda turned to the alien and said, "You calmer now? Yes.
Good. Okay, first of all, you've got to get yourself another body."
"Why is that?"
`°I've reasons. One is that the authorities are probably searching for the
girl you absorbed. How you got as far as you did without anybody but me
spotting you is hard to understand. Number two, a teen-aged girl traveling by
herself is going to get hassled too much, and you don't know how to handle
yourself in a tight situation. You know what I'm saying? You're going to want
to hitchhike out to Nevada, Wyoming, Utah, wherever the hell your rendezvous
place is, and all along the way people are going to be coming on to you. You
don't need any of that. Besides, it's very tricky trying to pass for a girl.
You've got to know how to put your face paint on, how to understand challenge
codes, what the way you wear your clothing says, and like that. Boys have a
much simpler subculture. You get yourself a male body, a big hunk of a body,
and nobody'll bother you much on the way to where you're going. You just keep
to yourself, don't make eye contact, don't smile, and everyone will leave you
alone."
"Makes sense," said the alien. "All right. The hunger is becoming very bad
now. Where do I get a male body?"
"San Francisco. It's full of men. We'll go over there tonight and find a nice
brawny one for you.
With any luck we might even find one who's not gay, and then we can have a
little fun with him first. And then you take his body over-which incidentally
solves your food problem for a while doesn't it? And we can have some more
fun, a whole weekend of fun." Amanda winked. "Okay, Connie?"
"Okay." The alien winked, a clumsy imitation, first one eye, then the other.
"You give me more oregano now?"
"Later. And when you wink, just wink one eye. Like this. Except I don't think
you ought to do a lot of winking at people. It's a very intimate gesture that
could get you in trouble. Understand?"
"There's so much to understand."
"You're on a strange planet, kid. Did you expect it to be just like home?
Okay, to continue. The next thing I ought to point out is that when you leave
here on Sunday, you'll have to-"
The telephone rang.
"What's that sound?" the alien asked.
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"Communications device. I'll be right back." Amanda went to the hall
extension, imagining the worst: her parents, say, calling to announce that
they were on their way back from Tahoe tonight, some mix-up in the
reservations or something.
But the voice that greeted her was Charley's. She could hardly believe it,
after the casual way he had shafted her this weekend. She could hardly believe
what he wanted, either. He had left half a dozen of his best cassettes at her
place last week, Golden Age rock, Abbey Road and the Hendrix one and a Joplin
and such, and now he was heading off to Monterey for the festival and wanted
to have them for the drive. Did she mind if he stopped off in half an hour to

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pick them up?
The bastard, she thought. The absolute trashiness of him! First to torpedo her
weekend without even an apology, and then to let her know that he and
what's-her-name were scooting down to
Monterey for some fun, and could he bother her for his cassettes? Didn't he
think she had any feelings? She looked at the telephone as if it were emitting
tads and scorpions. It was tempting to hang up on him.
She resisted the temptation. "As it happens," she said, "I'm just on my way
out for the weekend myself. But I've got a friend who's staying here
cat-sitting for me. I'll leave the cassettes with her, okay? Her name's
Connie."
"Fine. That's great," Charley said. "I really appreciate that, Amanda."
"It's nothing," she said.
The alien was back in the kitchen, nosing around the spice rack. But Amanda
had the oregano. She said, "I've arranged for delivery of your next body."
"You did?"
"A large healthy adolescent male. Exactly what you're looking for. He's going
to be here in a little while. I'm going to go out for a drive. You take care
of him before I get back. How long does it take for you to-engulf-somebody?"
"It's very fast."
"Good." Amanda found Charley's cassettes and stacked them on the living-room
table. "He's coming over here to get these six little boxes, which are
music-storage devices. When the doorbell rings, you let him in and introduce
yourself as Connie and tell him his things are on this table. After that
you're on your own. You think you can handle it?"
"Sure," the alien said.
"Tuck in your T-shirt better. When it's tight, it makes your boobs stick out,
and that'll distract him. Maybe he'll even make a pass at you. What happens to
the Connie body after you engulf him?".
"It won't be here. What happens is I merge with him and dissolve all the
Connie characteristics and take on the new ones."
"Ah. Very nifty. You're a real nightmare thing, you know? You're a walking
horror show. Here you are, have another little hit of oregano before I go."
She put a tiny pinch of spice in the alien's hand. "Just to warm up your
engine a little. I'll give you more later, when you've done the job. See you
in an hour, okay?"
She left the house. Macavity was sitting on the porch, scowling, whipping his
tail from side to side. Amanda knelt beside him and scratched him behind the
ears. The cat made a low, rough purring sound, not much like his usual purr.
Amanda said. "You aren't happy, are you, fella? Well, don't worry. I've told
the alien to leave you alone, and I guarantee you'll be okay. This is Amanda's
fun tonight. You don't mind if Amanda has a little fun, do you?" Macavity made
a glum, snuffling sound. "Listen, maybe I can get the alien to create a nice
little calico cutie for you, okay? Just going into heat and ready to howl.
Would you like that, guy? Would you? I'll see what I can do when I get back.
But I have to clear out of here now, before Charley shows up."
She got into her car and headed for the westbound freeway ramp. Half past sic,
Friday night, the sun still hanging high above the Bay. Traffic was thick in
the eastbound lanes, the late commuters slogging toward home, and it was
beginning to build up westbound, too, as people set out for dinner in San
Francisco. Amanda drove through the tunnel and turned north into Berkeley to
cruise city streets. Ten minutes to seven now. Charley must have arrived. She
imagined Connie in her tight T-shirt, all stoned and sweaty on oregano, and
Charley giving her the eye, getting ideas, thinking about grabbing a bonus
quickie before taking off with his cassettes. And Connie leading him on,
Charley making his moves, and then suddenly that electric moment of surprise
as the alien struck and Charley found himself turning into dinner. It could be
happening right this minute, Amanda thought placidly. No more than the bastard
deserves, isn't it? She had felt for a long time that Charley was a big
mistake in her life, and after what he had pulled yesterday, she was sure of

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it. No more than he deserves.
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But, she wondered, what if Charley has brought his weekend date along? The
thought chilled her.
She hadn't considered that possibility at all. It could ruin everything.
Connie wasn't able to engulf two at once, was she? And suppose they recognized
her as the missing alien and ran out screaming to call the cops?
No, she thought. Not even Charley would be so tacky as to bring his date over
to Amanda's house tonight. And Charley never watched the news or read a paper.
He wouldn't have a clue as to what Connie really was until it was too late for
him to run.
Seven o'clock. Time to head for home.
The sun was sinking behind her as she turned onto the freeway. By quarter past
she was approaching her house. Charley's old red Honda was parked outside.
Amanda parked across the street and cautiously let herself in, pausing just
inside the front door to listen.
Silence.
"Connie?"
"In here," said Charley's voice.
Amanda entered the living room. Charley was sprawled out comfortably on the
couch. There was no sign of Connie.
"Well?" Amanda said. "How did it go?"
"Easiest thing in the world," the alien said. "He was sliding his hands under
my T-shirt when I
let him have the nullifier jolt."
"Ah. The nullifier jolt."
"And then I completed the engulfment and cleaned up the carpet. God, it feels
good not to be hungry again. You can't imagine how tough it was to resist
engulfing you, Amanda. For the past hour I kept thinking of food, food, food-"
"Very thoughtful of you to resist."
"I knew you were out to help me. It's logical not to engulf one's allies."
"That goes without saying. So you feel well fed now?
He was good stuff?"
"Robust, healthy, nourishing-yes."
"I'm glad Charley turned out to be good for something. How long before you get
hungry again?"
The alien shrugged. "A day or two. Maybe three. Give me more oregano, Amanda?"
"Sure," she said. "Sure." She felt a little let down. Not that she was
remorseful about Charley, exactly, but it all seemed so casual, so
offhanded-there was something anticlimactic about it, in a way. She suspected
she should have stayed and watched while it was happening. Too late for that
now, though.
She took the oregano from her purse and dangled the jar teasingly. "Here it
is, babe. But you've got to earn it first."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I was looking forward to a big weekend with Charley, and the
weekend is here.
Charley's here, too, more or less, and I'm ready for fun. Come show me some
fun, big boy."
She slipped Charley's Hendrix cassette into the tape deck and turned the
volume all the way up.
The alien looked puzzled. Amanda began to peel off her clothes.
"You, too," Amanda said. "Come on. You won't have to dig deep into Charley's
mind to figure out what to do. You're going to be my Charley for me this
weekend, you follow? You and I are going to do all the things that he and I

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were going to do. Okay? Come on. Come on." She beckoned.
The alien shrugged again and slipped out of Charley's clothes, fumbling with
the unfamiliarities of his zipper and buttons. Amanda, grinning, drew the
alien close against her and down to the living-room floor. She took its hands
and put them where she wanted them to be. She whispered instructions. The
alien, docile, obedient, did what she wanted.
It felt like Charley. It smelled like 'Charley. And after her instructions, it
even moved pretty much the way Charley moved.
But it wasn't Charley, it wasn't Charley at all, and after the first few
seconds Amanda knew that she had goofed things up very badly. You couldn't
just ring in an imitation like this. Making love with this alien was like
making love with a very clever machine, or with her own mirror image. It was
empty and meaningless and dumb.
Grimly she went on to the finish. They rolled apart, panting, sweating.
"Well?" The alien said. "Did the earth move for you?"
"Yeah. Yeah. It was terrific-Charley."
"Oregano?"
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"Sure," Amanda said. She handed the spice jar across. "I always keep my
promises. babe. Go to it.
Have yourself a blast. Just remember that that's strong stuff for guys from
your planet, okay? If you pass out, I'm going to leave you right there on the
floor."
"Don't worry about me."
"Okay. You have your fun. I'm going to clean up, and then maybe we'll go over
to San Francisco for the nightlife. Does that interest you?"
"You bet, Amanda." The alien winked-one eye, then the other-and gulped a huge
pinch of oregano.
"That sounds terrific."
Amanda gathered up her clothes, went upstairs for a quick shower, and dressed.
When she came down, the alien was more than half blown away on the oregano,
goggle-eyed, loll-headed, propped up against the couch, and crooning to itself
in a weird atonal way. Fine.
Amanda thought. You just get yourself all spiced up, love. She took the
portable phone from the kitchen, carried it with her into the bathroom, locked
the door, and quietly dialed the police emergency number.
She was bored with the alien. The game had worn thin very quickly. And it was
crazy, she thought, to spend the whole weekend cooped up with a dangerous
extraterrestrial creature when there wasn't going to be any fun in it for her.
She knew now that there couldn't be any fun at all. And besides, in a day or
two the alien was going to get hungry again.
"I've got your alien," she said. "Sitting in my living room, stoned out of its
head on oregano.
Yes, I'm absolutely certain. It was disguised as a Chicana girl first,
Conception Flores, but then it attacked my boyfriend, Charley Taylor, and-yes,
yes, I'm safe. I'm locked in the john. Just get somebody over here fast-okay.
I'll stay on the line-what happened was, I spotted it downtown outside the
video center, and it insisted on coming home with me-"
The actual capture took only a few minutes. But there was no peace for hours
after the police tactical squad hauled the alien away, because the media were
in on the act right away, first a team from Channel 2 in Oakland, and then
some of the network guys, and then the Chronicle, and finally a whole army of
reporters from as far away as Sacramento and phone calls from Los Angeles and
San Diego and-about three that morning-New York.
Amanda told the story again and again until she was sick of it, and just as

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dawn was breaking, she threw the last of them out and barred the door.
She wasn't sleepy at all. She felt wired up, speedy, and depressed all at
once. The alien was gone, Charley was gone, and she was all alone. She was
going to be famous for the next couple of days, but that wouldn't help. She'd
still be alone. For a time she wandered around the house, looking at it the
way an alien might, as if she had never seen a stereo cassette before, or a
television set, or a rack of spices. The smell of oregano was everywhere.
There were little trails of it on the floor.
Amanda switched on the radio and there she was on the six A.m. news. "-the
emergency is over, thanks to the courageous Walnut Creek High School girl who
trapped and outsmarted the most dangerous life form in the known universe-"
She shook her head. "You think that's true?" she asked the cat. "Most
dangerous life form in the universe? I don't think so, Macavity, I think I
know of at least one that's a lot deadlier. Eh, kid?" She winked. "If they
only knew, eh? If they only knew." She scooped the cat up and hugged it, and
it began to purr. Maybe trying to get a little sleep would be a good idea.
Then she had to figure out what she was going to do about the rest of the
weekend.
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